Index
by Forrest LeRoo
Summary: Starscream has a list, a short one, but one he keeps secret from all others, one that defines his most hidden secret talents and pains.
1. Texture

Contains hints of abuse, and hinted SS/TC/SW SS/MG and SS/KO. Critique is welcomed, so long as it's constructive.

Starscream was a mech of many flaws.

Some were more obvious than others; take, for example, his over bearing ego. The rest he kept, for a variety of reasons, to himself. Most of these were small insignificant personality glitches that, though he may try and mask them with wit and cleverness, were not really a secret to anyone. Try and call him out on any of them though and you were sure to get an ill-intended claw gouging your face plate.

He did however, have a small list of traits, and I do mean small, that he was extra careful to keep hidden from everyone, especially to his lord and master. On the top of this index of weaknesses was a particular defect that served as Starsrceam's saving grace, but also had potential to be his greatest curse.

It was well known among Cybertronian society that seekers wings contained a specialized sensory node whose primary function was to properly interpret wind speed, direction, and a variety of other necessary calculations for flight; it was also well known that they could in fact be used in a number of explicit activities, but we won't mention those.

The unfortunate thing about Cybertronian society was that not everyone was quite so pleased with the job they were given, the whole Cybertronian civil war was proof of that, and the particular mech in charge of building the head seekers adult upgrade was one of the many who would much rather have been doing something else. That's not to say he was bad at his charge but he was easily whisked away into flights of fancy about where he could be if he had a choice in what he could do with his life and that is exactly what happened to poor old Starscream.

At the time of the second in commands building this absentminded mechanic was chatting with his friend about how much he would love to not be there right now when he got a bit too carried away with the wiring and accidentally connected some extra sensitivity nodes into unfortunate Starsrceam's servos.

To this very day the elegant seeker has been the owner of a pair of extra sensitive palms and fingers, in short, Starscream feels in Extra-high definition. Or well, he used to. After the incident with Skyquake and the dark energon He only had the extra nodes in one hand. The seeker was too stubborn to even let his little gift slip to the medic when asked why the old arm was so important.

The elegant mech was so stubborn about keeping this a secret for a good reason though. Well, a good reason according to him. Why share a skill with mechs who couldn't even use it? The only person these extra nodes could ever serve would be Starscream, and he wanted to keep it that way.

It was his escape route, his backup plan, and in some cases, his salvation. The combination of his sharp mind and this singular ability allowed the seeker to memorize paths by touch. He had already spent many a cycle committing the different textures and notches among the nemesis's every corridor to his memory banks. In case the day should arrive his Master deem it a viable punishment to permanently offline the seekers optics.

He'd spends hours stalking down hallways, dragging a servo lazily across the wall, feeling every little bump, bristle and scratch over the metal plating of his palm. He had done it so many times now that, so long as no one walked in front of him, Starscream could navigate from the smooth and well-kept walls of the Main Bridge to the Medical bay where they were graced with a mish-mash of gashes and dents that resonated with the haunting cries of the patients who had made them. Starscream even dared to go as far as Megatron's quarters, the structure of which was covered in deep gashes and ragged wounds all caused by their leader, many still doused in dried energon, that was mostly Starscream's, and he did it completely blind.

Those deep memorial scars were another reason the second would always keep his condition hidden away from the tyrant. If Megatron had knowledge of this map of he would most definitely ensure he would no longer be able to use it. The seeker often winced at the imagined pain as he thought of Megatron crushing every inch of life out of his remaining original servo. Losing his ability to feel would be akin to losing a limb, granted that's exactly what it was.

Walls were not the only memories contained in the seekers hands. He remembered substances that had caked his palms and stuck there like spiders web on a weary travelers face, the energon of foe and brother alike, the delicate an individual inner workings of the many mechs he had extinguished using nothing but his claws, and the few he had cradled in them.

Every Mech that Starscream had ever encountered possessed their own particular texture much like a fingerprint. Very few were committed to memory, many were not worth remembering. He more so relished the textures that followed that touch against another mech's chassis.

Though there were a select few 'bots that Starscream was certain he would never forget. The feel of his Trine mates were rooted particularly deep in his processor; Thundercracker was built of rough dense metal, tough and stuccoed, sharp. He felt like grit and wreckage. Skywarp was softer, in a way; armour of thick pliable material, supple, soft, but not necessarily smooth; the surface rich with the ripples and ridges that come from shifting through space-time. The two of them had been long since lost to the seeker, their sparks wandering somewhere in the expanse of the universe.

Megatron made a particularly deep impression ever time Starscream came to see him. The giant mech's frame was a never ending journey of discovery. There seemed to be new scars each and every time Starscream's hands were allowed to peruse that body freely. The silver surface radiated with death, pain, and a defiance of both, the metal was raw, constantly churning with every movement and pass of palm that Starscream made. It would seem that his master's body was just one giant scar that had grown so big it developed into a consciousness.

Quite a contrast to the feeling of their resident medic's chassis. Glossy red metal became porcelain under years of waxing and buffing, and just as delicate too; more than once had Starscream scrambled the finish with the lightest of touches. Precise flawless edging on the helm lent itself to an accurate reflection of the sharp mind it contained and constant warmth warned of the fiery spark hidden under armour. Knockout felt of alluring secrets and danger, an honest description considering the nature of their relations.

The only other bot Starscream knew by surface would be himself. It was a comfort in a way, being able to feel himself apart from others. Knowing that he was the only one who possessed the combination of abrasive and delicate armour that made his frame his. Cool metal and warm systems were signs life, his solidity as part of reality. An eternity's worth of scars telling him to keep fighting even when all he could do to remind himself the he still functioned was to feel, his frame, the world, everything.

Being able to interpret the world through his hands brought a certain level of intimacy into Starscream's life, intimacy and security. He could interpret the world in the ways other couldn't, he was better than any of them could ever be, and so long as a spark was alight in his chest the seeker would continue to use this little skill for his own needs and purpose.

As for those other items on the list? Well, he's not really willing to share.


	2. Support

Cybertron, and all its inhabitants, were at war.

This was a fact of life.

War meant scars were handed out by the dozen.

This was also a fact of life.

And the occupants of the nemesis certainly understood the concept. You could walk into the eradicon barracks at any given time and find at least one little group of the drones discussing their greatest scares and battle wounds, or that of their superiors. While the higher ups didn't often partake in such frivolous conversation, well except maybe for Knockout, it did not mean they knew nothing of the others wounds.

Take, for instance, the cherry red doctor. Though he prided himself on his beautiful finish and flawless paint job everybody knew that his right tire would never be quite as high as his left, due to a poorly applied patch job somewhere under his upper armour.

Then there was Soundwave. New comers were always quick to question the communications commander when they met him for the first time. Most commonly; why was he so quiet? And, the less popular, but still prominent; why are his legs so weird? No one could really answer the former, except for maybe Soundwave, but that just brings the whole thing debacle full circle now, doesn't it? The latter, however, any drone who thought he was someone would tell you that little tale. There were a few variants of the story itself, but they all ended at the same place, Soundwave's legs had been broken beyond repair and the odd shaped armour acted as a sort of permanent crutch, it was one of the reasons he rarely left the ship.

Megatron's stories were countless, Dreadwing had some good ones too, and no one really talked about Breakdown much anymore… but one mech out of all of them was infamous for his tales of scarring, or lack thereof.

This mech, was Starscream.

Of course there was a reason behind this, and it was not that the second was simply a flawless fighter and had never been scratched so bad as to have a permanent wound, anyone with a perfectly functioning processor could tell you that. He was just careful enough to never let it slip.

One in particularly shameful injury had managed to worm its way in to the number two spot on the seekers special little list. Not that order really mattered.

Years of abuse had lead Starscream into a life of constant flux from perfect functioning condition to morbid disrepair on a near daily basis. Most injuries turned out to be superficial, a couple needed some heavier attention, but all in all he would always come back kicking, well I say always.

Seekers were not built to be particularly heavy duty, there were a few exceptions of course, but usually they were light, lithe, and did not carry heavy armour. Any large amount of weight or bulk would be highly counterproductive for flight.

This ingenious design would come to cause a bit of a problem whence the war began; because while they were kings of the sky seekers were very rarely equipped for hand to hand combat, or in this singular case, the commander was not prepared to handle repeated violent punishment.

Megatron was a vile being to be in close quarters with, weather as friend or as foe did not matter he was likely to break you in some way, double if you were Starscream. And break the mech he did; the number of times the second had been launched, tripped, shoved, and generally fallen aft-first to the ground by cause of Megatron's hand were countless. The additive sum of these incidents being permanent, and painful, damage to the commander's lower back.

The mangled support had gotten so bad in recent decades that the pain permeating from struts was so constant that Starscream no longer really noticed. Sometimes he would run into the kind of sharp pain that ran all the way up through his systems when he twisted in the wrong direction but it was part of him now, a not so little reminder of who was really in control of the seekers life.

Of course he was going to keep this secret from everyone on the warship. He could not even begin to imagine the scrutiny and taunting jeers that would come his way were he to let it slip. No one could respect or follow such a liability into battle, let alone have him lead; his master would surely extinguish him, should his story fall on untrustworthy audials. The tyrant would not be too impartial to his second being in possession of such a handicap. Yes, it was all the better he keep this to himself, in the long run.

Injuries were a little more troublesome to keep out of the keen and watchful optic of the Nemesis's resident doctor than some special sensory nodes though. And despite being Decepticon by nature somewhere deep down in Knockout's spark was a small amount of caring and concern for everyone under his charge. Of course it was buried behind vanity, curiosity, and a dozen of other emotions, but it was there.

Ultimately Starscream couldn't avoid letting it slip when he had entered the med bay one too many times barely able to hold himself upright. The grounder's growing concern got the better of him and, after some fighting and minor sedation, laid his commander down, peeled away layers of lightweight armour plating, and gasped in horror at the abomination he had presently revealed. Starscream remembered the med berth feeling particularly cold that day.

Nothing could fix him completely; the machinery was much too far gone for that, the technology that made up a Cybertronian's skeletal support system was far too complex to re make using the few resources they had. All that could be done, Knockout had said, was to patch up areas that had lost all integrity and try and iron out as many dents as possible, and he would have to have it done regularly. He'd still be left with slightly cock-eyed pistons, twisting, dented panelling, lessened, but still persistent, pain, and a slight hunch back, but the chances off him losing all ability to stand would be far less.

Starscream had come to the conclusion long ago that this was his master's way of implementing ironic karma for the seeker's constant backstabbing. He had also come to the conclusion that he would fight it every step of the way. No matter the pain, no matter if he crumpled to the ground, unable to support himself with anything but his arms he would find a way to keep wrestling fate until the very day he was no longer able to do even that. He didn't want that to happen, he loved moving too much, but if it came down to it, he wanted to prove his power and leadership even more. Wouldn't it be the best revenge to take down Megatron whilst fighting through the damage meant to keep him from doing so? Strascream thought so.

And maybe one day, he might be able to stalk around the nemesis without pain circling his systems, but until then he would take that ache and turn it into fuel, anger, wit, and use it to claim his rightful place and maybe, just maybe, give Megatron some permanent scars of his own.


End file.
